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The Rescue 
of Prince Hal 

BY 

REA WOODMAN, M. A. 



ELDREDGE ENTERTAINMENT HOUSE, 

FRANKLIN, - OHIO. 






To my believing friend, Professor Maurice Ricker, of Des 
Moines, Iowa, the first rescuer of my budding dramatic ambitions. 
My greeting across the years between, dear old Comrade! 






THE PEOPLE OF THE COMEDY 

Mr. Sydney Parker, Nominal Head of the House, 
Who has builded his house on Easy Street. 

Mrs. Sydney Parker, Reigning Head of the House, 
Who has Serious Social Ambitions. 

Louise Parker, Their Daughter, 

Whose desires can mostly be Satisfied by Money. 

Wellington Parker, Their Son, 

A Successful Financier in the Making. 

Harry Henderson Hess, A Vagrant Nephew, 
Who is Going to School on the Side. 

Mrs. Katherine Colvin, Their Richest Aunt, 

Who contemplates givmg away her Money before she Dies. 

Mr. Andrew Martin, an Elderly Uncle, 

Who Views with Alarm the Family's growing Social Prestige. 

Madeline Tracey, of New York City, 

Who is quite Approachable, in spite of Her Clothes. 

^Emma, a Ridiculously Pretty Housemaid. 



SYiVOPSIS 



Act I. The Sitlingroom of the Parker Home, one 
Monday Morning in February . 
"I am Under-Secretary to the House of Parker. 
'Keep off the Grass!' " 

Act II. The Parlor of the Parker Home, at 6 o'clock, 
the Evening of the Same Day. 
"Fact is, Kate, I'm on Easy Street at last." 

Act III. The Sittingroom of the Parker Home, after 
breakfast, Tuesday Morning. 
"You can't wash the gold off your fingers. It sticks — 
it sticks!" 

Epilogue. The Diningroom of the Parker Home, Wed- 
nesday Morning, at 9 o'clock. 
"I'm to help her do things, — things that count, you 
know, and keep on counting after you're dead." 



ACT I 

(llie Sitting room of the Parker Home, an 
apartment of careless elegance, one Monday 
Morning in February. Mrs. Sydney Parker, in 
a beautiful morning dress, is seated at her writ- 
ing-desk, looking over bills and letters.) 

Mrs. P. Mrs. Myers's luncheon on Thursday; at last 
that much-talked-of luncheon ! I hope she won't wear 
that everlasting purple cloth! I'm sick and tired of see- 
ing it ! The Reynoldes dinner on Monday, and the Clark- 
son wedding on Tuesday, (zvriting in a little book). The 
musicale Thursday — no, Tuesday, at eleven. I ought to 
have a new gown for the wedding; I've worn that rose 
silk three times this winter. It will soon be as famous 
as Mrs. Myers's purple cloth Hal's report for Jan- 
uary. 72 in geometry. Poor boy, he gets worse every 
day. (drops it into the waste basket). And he failed 
in Latin last term! (takes up a letter). "Mrs. W. Win- 
nifred Williams requests the honor of your presence at 
the wedding of her daughter — " (tosses it into the 
basket). That was ages ago! They're now in the first 
stages of absolute divorce,— that's how long ago it was I 
{takes up another letter). 

(Enter Emma, zcho skirmishes around briskly, 
looking for something.) 

Mrs. P. (icithout looking up). Has Hal gone to 
school? What time is it? 

Bmma. It's half-past nine. No, jNIa'am, he has n't. 
He can't find his Latin books. 

Mrs. P. (tossing a letter into the basket, and taking 
up another). No, I suppose not. He never can. The 
last thing that boy thinks about is his school work. 

Bmma. (demurely). Yes, Ma'am. (She goes to the 
bookcase, and opens it.) 



Mrs. P. (zvithout looking up). What are you look- 
ing for? 

Emma. Harry's books. 

Mrs. P. Where is he? 

Bninia. He has n't gone to school yet. 

Mrs. P. (looking tip). So you said before. What's 
he doing? 

Emma, (zvith reluctance). Eating his breakfast. 

Mrs. P. (dropping the letter she holds, from surprise). 
He is? He is? Does he often breakfast at half-past 
nine ? 

Emma. No, Ma'am, not often; that is, not so very 
often. (She takes tivo hooks from the case, and closes 
the door.) 

Mrs. P. Did he yesterday? (Emma nods, reluctant- 
ly). And the day before? (Emma nods.) Well, go on 
about your work. If those are Hal's books, put them on 
the table, and leave them there. (Emma does so, and 
leaves the room. Mrs. Parker sighs, and resumes her 
occupation, albeit zvith deep depression.) 

(Enter Mr, Andrew Martin.) 

Mr. M. Sydney said he left some papers here for me. 
Do you know anything about them? 

Mrs. P. No, he did n't say anything about any papers. 

Mr. M. (going to the table). They are n't here. 
Maybe he told Hal to bring them down. He wants them 
this morning. 

Mrs. P. (leaning hack, pen in hand). Perhaps; you'll 
have to ask Hal. Do you know, I'm afraid we'll have to 
send Hal away to school? He's failed in Latin again. 

Mr. M. (taking up one of the hooks that Emma placed 
on the table). Failing in Latin is one of his favorite 
diversions, (smiling). He's breakfasting now. 

Mrs. P. He has everything a boy can want. I'm sure 
we do all we can for him. 

Mr. M. (looking through the hook smilingly). My 
dear sister, you do too much. That's the trouble. He's 

C 



suffering from sheer surfeit. It is not only not best for 
man to be alone, but it is not best for man to have every- 
thing he w^ants. Besides, this house is no place for a boy 
with brains. 

Mrs. P. (highly indignant). Do you consider it an 
ideal place for a boy zvithout brains? 

Mr. M. (still smiling into the book he is running 
through). Not necessarily. I have never considered it 
in the light of an asylum. I mean Hal is a chameleon; 
he takes color from his surroundings. Most clever peo- 
ple do. I believe it used to be called "the artistic tem- 
perament." 

Mrs. P. But what will become of him? 

Mr. M. (shrugging his shoulders, — a common trick 
of his). What becomes of other clever boys, spoiled in 
the same way? He'll become a clubman, in all likeli- 
hood, and die suddenly, prematurely gray. 

Mrs. P. (frozvning). "Prematurely gray." What do 
you mean? 

Mr. M. Prematurely gray. It is not uncommon in 
clubmen. 

Mrs. P. Sydney has been talking of sending him to 
Annapolis. What do you think? 

Mr. M. (ivalking tozvard the door). The Navy is 
eminently respectable. He'll probably be as comfortable 
there as a man of ability can be in ready-made clothes, 
moral, social, and otherwise. 

Mrs. P. "Ready-made clothes?" Why, Andrew, what 
an expression! I don't see what clothes have to do with 
Hal's entering the Navy. 

Mr. M. ( turning at the door). Yes, it is seemingly a 
far cry from ready-made clothes to an officer of the U. S. 
Navy, — or any other Navy. Nevertheless, the connec- 
tion is vital. (He goes out, smiling inscrutably.) 

Mrs. P. I don't think Andrew knows what he means 
himself, half the time. 

(Enter Emma, ivith the morning mail.) 



Einma. The mail, Mrs. Parker. (She hands it, then 
zvaits.) 

Mrs. P. {running over the letters). Tell Miss Louise 
that I wish to see her. (Emma goes. Mrs. Parker, using 
a papcrknife with neat dispatch, opens several envelopes.) 
Kirkwood's bill. I hope he got it here in time. Thirty- 
five dollars ! It ought to be about fifteen ! We had noth- 
ing but carnations and sweet peas Bills, bills, bills! 

And it's only the middle of the month! This looks 

like Aunt Kate. She always uses these ridiculous square 
envelopes, (opens a letter and reads alond). "The 
Knickerbocker, February 19th. My dearest Mary." 
Aunt Kate! Well, I'll declare! (She scans the whole 
letter hastily.) She's been in New York a week, and she's- 
dead tired, and she'll be here tonight. Tonight ! Heav- 
ens, how things happen ! 

(Enter LouiSE Parker, in a fetching morning gozvji.) 

Louise. Emma says you want to see me. Has Hal 
gone yet? I want him to stop at Wanamaker's for me. 

Mrs. P. What for? It is time he was at school. 

Louise. I've 'phoned three times for them to come for 
that suit. I want it for Thursday sure. Hal can take it 
on his way down. (She seats herself, and reaches for 
the letters). Anything for me? 

Mrs. P. You'd better 'phone for a messenger, and 
leave Hal go on. He's frightfully late now. Well, guess 
the latest. 

Louise. Here's a letter from Madeline. What is the 
latest ? 

Mrs. P. (rising, with a tragic gesture). Your Aunt 
Kate's in America ! 

Louise, (looking up from her letter). Aunt Kate? 
Aunt Kate Colvin? I thought she was in Egypt! 

Mrs. P. She's never where you think she is. She 
was in Egypt, and she was in Rome, and now she's in 
New York. She could n't pounce down upon us at a 
worse time, if she had sat up nights thinking about it. 

8 



What does Madeline say? Did you invite her for any 
special time? 

Louise. Yes, for this week. She'll be here Wednes- 
day, she says. 

Mrs. P. (beginning to move about the room, rest- 
lessly). She can't come. Telegraph her to stay away. 
Your Aunt Kate's coming tonight. 

Louise. ;My Aunt Kate? Tonight! 

Airs. P. Don't repeat things like a parrot ! It's enough 
to drive one crazy ! 

Louise. And our dinner on Wednesday ! 

Mrs. P. {calmly). And our dinner on Wednesday. 

Louise. Write her you are sick. 

Mrs. P. What good would it do ? Your relations are 
always charmed to put up with anything — everything; 
it's the privilege of being in the family. You can head 
off your friends, and side-track your enemies, but you 
can't stop your relations ! If you write them you are 
away, they'll come and wait for you; if you write 'em 
you're sick, they'll come to nurse you ; if you write 'em 
you're in jail, they'll come to get you out; if you write 
'em you're dead, they'll come to — to bury you ! 

Louise, (dejectedly) . That's so. 

Mrs. P. She wants to see all of us in our own home, 
she says. She's been suddenly smitten with a longing 
for home ties. Listen ; this is what she says : "We had 
a fairly pleasant — •" No, that is n't it. Here it is. "I 
feel very lonely at .times, so far from mine own people. 
I'm tired gadding around the world by myself. I'd like 
to nestle down in some cozy home nook, and rest, rest, 
rest !" 

Louise. Fancy Aunt Kate "nestling!" 

Mrs. P. I can't She never did ; she sat up straight 
in her cradle. 

Louise, (-giggling)- I would n't call this "A cozy 
home nook." 

Airs. P. (looking around the room slowly). No,. 

9 



either would I. But she does n't imagine how things 
are with us, of course. She has n't visited us since you 
were a little girl. Your father was only a Director then. 

Louise, (sighing). Yes, times have changed with 
us. But I was n't very little ; I was in the high school. 
Don't you remember, it was when we lived in German- 
town, and were poor but hopeful. That letter sounds as 
if she would stay a year. 

Mrs. P. (straightening a ritg). Oh, she won't. I 
know Kate Colvin. She never stayed in one place six 
weeks in her life. She'll probably stay two davs and a 
half. 

(Enter Harry Henderson Hess, hastily and 
noisily. He carries some school books, a legal- 
looking bundle of papers, and a long dangling 
strap.) 

Hal. Say, Aunt Mary, do you know where — why, 
what's the matter? Anybody just died? 

Mrs. P. Take off your cap, Hal, and lower your 
voice. I presume you are hunting your Latin books. 
There they are, on the table. Why are n't you at school ? 

Hal. (jerking off his cap, and going to the bookcase). 
Could n't find my geometry, so could n't get my lesson, 
so I cut the push. I got to stop at the office with these 
papers for Uncle Syd. I have n't time to go to school. 
I am a man of affairs, (digs around in the bookcase 
anxiously) . I believe somebody hides my books, just to 
blast my career ! 

Louise, (laughing). You poor boy ! What have you 
lost? 

Hal. (going to the divan, and shaking out the cush- 
ions). What have you lost? You people look as if 
Dolly Dimple had broken all the cut glass in the house. 
What's the row? Put me next. 

Mrs. P. Hal, you must not call Emma "Dolly Dim- 
ple." It is ridiculous. 

Hal. The matter is respectfully referred to the Com- 

10 



mittee on Home Affairs. What's the row, I say? Put 
me next. 

Louise, (smiling). Your Aunt Kate is coming to 
see us. 

Hal. (discovering his geometry on the divan). Saved 
again '.—My Aunt Kate. She's a new one on me. 

Mrs. P. You've heard of your Aunt Kate Colvin, — 
the one that goes to Europe so often. 

Hal. (readjusting the cushions on the divan). Oh, 
Aunt Kate Colvin ! Gee Whizz, she's that rich old party ! 

Mrs. P. (^zi'ith o sigh). Yes, she's "that rich old 
party." 

Louise, (pensively). They say she's worth a million. 

Hal. (transfixed). A million ! Oh my eyes ! Is her 
health good? 

Mrs. P. You've seen your Aunt Kate, have n't you? 

Hal. (strapping iip his books as he talks). I think 
I did, once, long before my mother died. She brought 
me a "Pilgrim's Progress." I remember the picture of 
the man on the cover. He had a big bundle on his back, 
and I thought his wife was a washerwoman. Oh, yes, I 
remember her all right ; handsome, stately. First Family 
sort. Walks this way. (illustrates). All one piece; no 
goods exchanged. ]\iy Aunt Kate! Well, I should say 
yes! It seemeth but yesterday that she gave me that 
fine old English classic, when my soul yearned for a 
popgun. 

Louise. Aunt Kate always gives books She gave me 
a "Pilgrim's Progress." 

Hal. With the washerwoman's husband on the cover? 

Louise. Yes, the bundle tied with gold rope,— a fright- 
fully big bundle ! 

Hal. The same, the same. Highly cultured old party. 

Mrs. P. (gathering up some letters, and going to- 
z.<ard the door). Aunt Kate is n't old. She's younger 
than your Aunt Sally, and she's not forty-five. {to 

11 



Louise). I'm going to 'phone yonr father; he'll want 
to know right off. (goes). 

Hal. {taking up his books and the legal-looking 
package). The age statistics of women are always rela- 
tive. No woman is ever just plain forty; she is younger 
than Mrs. Thingumbob, who isn't forty-five. Oh woman, 
lovely woman, your arithmetic is all your own. Well, 
so long. 

Louise. Hal, sit down a minute. I want to tell you 
about Aunt Kate. 

Hal. (at the door). Well, hurry up. I'm running 
on schedule this morning. 

Louise. Sit down, take oft' your cap, and stop think- 
ing of something else. 

Hal. (sifting dozvn, his cap a-tilt). I shall have to 
think of something else until you give me something 
else to think about. Say on. I perceive that we have 
something here of serious import. 

Louise. It's pretty serious, and you must help us out. 
Your Aunt Kate is coming here tonight. 

Hal. (taking out his notebook, zvith scholarly pre- 
cision). My Aunt Kitty Colvin, proud possessor of one 
million plunks, is coming here tonight. Fact one. I 
have it. Go on, and go slow. I do not think easily in 
large figures. 

Louise. She'll be here in time for dinner, and we 
don't know how long she'll stay. 

Hal. (un'iting). Ah, that is unfortunate. 

Louise. It is. Now listen. Aunt Kate is worth a 
million, they say, and — 

Hal. {zvaving the notebook). Young woman, do you 
think I have forgotten the fact? That is the sort of 
thing a man never forgets — at least not in a world built 
on the order of this one ! 

Louise. Listen. I'm talking. Aunt Kate hates soci- 
ety; she thinks it is a dreadful waste of time, and only 
foolish people waste time. 

12 



Hal. The plot thickens. What is her long suit? 

Louise, (zcifh a groan). Culture. Intellectual At- 
tainment. And Human Welfare. And Women— the 
Uplift of Women. Just now she is interested in the 
women of Egypt. 

Hal. (zvith a hug zvhistic). The women of Egypt! 
Now would n't that jar you? What's the matter with 
'em? 

Louise. ( giggJi^ig)- I don't know. I suppose they 
want to vote, or something outlandish. But this is the 
point. She won't be here long, and while she's here, 
we're going to — to — 

Hal. (unth a profound wink). Lower the pressure. 

Louise, (nodding). Well, just a little. She has n't 
visited us since Papa was made President, you know, 
and since then we — we have — er — 

Hal. We have been going some. I see. 

Louise. Yes, and we don't want to — to shock her, as 
it were. And she might as well give her money to us 
as to the women of Egypt. Most likely they are a good 
deal happier as they are. What do people want with an 
education over there? It will only make them miserable 
to tell them about things they have n't got. And we are 
n't rich ; now are we, Hal ? 

Hal. (throwing up his hands). The Heavens for- 
fend ! I have n't a sou. That's the truth if I ever told it. 

Louise, (pensively). Of course we are n't going to 
lie about our position, but — 

Hal. Of course not. Like limburger, it speaks for 
itself. 

Louise, (gravely). It speaks for itself, but — well, 
I'm sure poor Papa works like a dog, and I need a party 
gown this minute. 

Hal. (slamming his notebook shut, and buttoning his 
coat over it zvith a determined air). I see. I see. My 
fair and ingenuous cousin, I have the situation by the 
throat — by the hair of its head, so to speak. Aunt Kate 

13 



is rich ; we are not ; we are suffering for party gowns, 
automobiles, false hair, and other necessities. In case of 
apoplexy, we would fain be in on the ground floor. Is 
n't that about the situation? 

Louise, (giggliiig)- Oh Hal, your slang is perfectly 
disgraceful ! People don't have to die before they give 
their money away. I don't want Aunt Kate to die. I'm 
awfully fond of her. We all are. But she says she's 
going to divide her money among her relations while she 
can enjoy seeing them enjoy it, — she's always talking 
about doing that. But if she thinks we have enough, 
she'll give it to somebody who has n't. 

Hal. (chezving Jiis pencil absently). Well, there are 
a good many poor ramifications ; she could do worse 
than tidy them up a bit, don't you think? 

Louise, (carelessly). Oh, I suppose she'll help them 
when they need it. But I want my share now. When 
I'm old I suppose Til have heaps of money. 

Hal. Oh, no doubt. All old people do. I've noticed 
that. 

Louise. She won't stay long — only a few days, and if 
we can imjiress her with our culture and our domestic — 
domestis — 

Hal. Permit me. Domesticity. (springing tip). 
"Conspiracy, thou art afoot, take thou what course thou 
wilt !" W hat's the game, — Poverty Poor, Land Poor, 
Genteel Poor, or Swell Poor? 

(Enter Mrs. Parker.) 
Mrs. P. I've 'phoned your father. He and Welling- 
ton will meet your Aunt Kate, — stop at the station as 
they come home, you know. He is delighted. (She seats 
herself at her desk, and sorts out some cards and en- 
velopes.) 

Louise. Oh, Papa adores her. She's the only sister 
that does n't nag him. 

Mrs. P. (sharply). She has n't l)een within nagging 
distance for years. 

Hal. (starting; for school again). I'll miss that Virgil 

14 



exam if I don't make tracks, {to Louise, who has risen 
from her chair) . Then it's Swell Poor ? 

Mrs. P. Who's swell poor? 

Hal. We are. 

Mrs. P. We are poor enough, Heaven knows. Pov- 
erty is not what you have, but what you have to spend. 

Louise, (sighing). You can't spend what you have 
n't got. 

Mrs. P. (also sighing). No, but you can need a 
good deal more than you can spend. 

Hal. You people talk like Bartlett's ''Familiar Quo- 
tations." Well, is it Swell Poor, I said? 

Louise. It's Cultured Rich, I guess. That's rare 
enough to attract even Aunt Kate, (starts out). Oh 
Hal, I want you to stop at Wanamaker's for me, will 
you? I just got to have my green suit for Thursday. 

Hal. Have n't time ; got a Virgil quiz at eleven. 

Louise. Please, dear. I'll give you a five pound 
Huyler's, if you will. 

Mrs. P. Louise, I thought I told you to 'phone for 
a messenger? All these errands distract Hal's attention 
from his studies. It must be stopped; that's all there 
is about it. 

Louise. Just this once, please, Mamma. Please. Hal 
does n't mind. 

Hal. (ruefulh). Yes, get the box, or the trunk, or 
whatever it is. '' 'I'll try, Sir,' said the Captain." Only— 
don't make a fuss the next time I flunk in Latin. 

Louise. I'll get the box right ofif. You're a dear boy. 
I knew you would n't mind.— INIamma, I'm going to 
write Madeline not to come until later. 

Mrs. P. (putting the cards into the envelopes). Yes, 

tell her— tell her we have the small pox ! (Louise goes.) 

Hal. Madeline Tracey ! Head her off by all means ! 

Her clothes would queer the whole deal! (He leans 

against the back of a chair, zvaiting.) 

Mrs. P. I am distracted about these invitations. 

15 



Hal. {absently, as one thinking of something else). 
A missionary tea for Aunt Kate? 

Mrs. P. No, that bridge luncheon Saturday. I hope 
Aunt Kate will be gone by that time. She hates bridge. 
I have n't had time to address them. (Hal ivhistles soft- 
ly, sivinging his books by their long strap, and looking 

dozvn.) Say, dear, are you in a dreadful hurry? 

Hal, are you in a dreadful hurry? 

Hal. (rousing himself, for his reverie has been a 
long one — for a boy!). No, Aunt Alary. It's never late 
tilfit's early. What 'tis? 

Mrs. P. Would you mind addressing these envelopes 
before you go? There are only fifty, and I am due at 
the dressmaker's at eleven. 

Hal. (putting dozvn his books and the legal-looking 
package quietly). Yes, indeed. 

Mrs. P. (rising). Here's the list, and they are all 
ready. (SJie starts to leave the room, then, going to 
him, she places her hands on his shoulders). Prince Hal, 
while Aunt Kate is here I'm going to depend upon you 
more than all the rest together. 

Hal. (earnestly). Aunt Mary, I'm your huckleberry. 
Cultured Rich is the game. We are rich, but not so 
rich that you'd notice it. We still need things. I am 
the Impecunious Nephew, and poor old Uncle Syd works 
like a cart horse. You need diamonds, Louise needs 
dinner gowns, the Duke needs spuds, Uncle Andy needs 
rest, and I need — Opportunity. We all need things. Is 
that right? 

Airs. P. (laughing). No hardly. At least, we all 
need things, but we must n't let on that we do. Aunt 
Kate can see through a brick wall. 

Hal. (with complete understanding). But we must 
n't let it fall on her. (Louise comes in zvith a long paste- 
board bfl.y, zvhicJi she places on a chair and goes out.) 

Mrs. P. We must n't let it fall on her. She won't be 
here long, and we'll go in for Culture. See? That's the 
road to Aunt Kate's heart. We do not care about a good 

16 



time ; we realize that society is a foolish waste of time 
and money. Talk about your studies. , 

Hal. (grinning). Latin and geometry? 

Mrs. P. Anything to build up a Culture Atmosphere. 
Don't use slang and don't talk about motor cars. (She 
releases him, and turns to go.) 

Hal. And I'll bone up on Egypt ; the pyramids, and 
Antony and Cleopatra, and all that push. No woman 
puts her trust in me in vain. (Mrs. Parker smiles, and 
goes out. Hal places his book and the packet on the box 
Louise has brought in, and sits dozvn at the zvriting desk, 
ivhere he begins to address envelopes zvith speed and dex- 
terity.) Darn this pen! It's a wise woman that knows 
a pen from a cambric needle ! 

(Enter Mr. Martin, with the paper.) 

Mr. M. Oh, are you here? Did your uncle say any- 
thing about some papers he wanted at the office? 

Hal. (dashing off envelopes at a terrific speed). Yes, 
I got 'em. I'll take them on my way to school. 

Mr. M. (seating himself by the table, and speaking 
zvith leisurely sarcasm). Oh, then you are going to school 
today? (Hal does not reply, but his face hardens a lit- 
tle.) It will be a pleasant change for you. This butter- 
fly life is rather monotonous, after all. What are you 
doing? 

Hal. (zi'ithouf modifying his terrific speed). Address- 
ing some envelopes for Aunt Mary. 

• Mr. M. Why are n't you at school? I say, why 

are n't you at school ? You ought not to be hanging 
around here at this hour of the da}'. 

Hal.( after looking at him steadily for a fezv seconds } 

"In the fell clutch of Circumstance 
I have not winced nor cried aloud ; 

Under the bludgeonings of Chance 

^ly head is bloodly, but unbowed." 

You make me tired. You know whv I'm not at school. 



Because I am Under-Secretary to the House of Parker. 
''Keep off the grass." 

{The Curtain falls on Hal, ivriting ivith speed, his 
Uncle looking at him in covert surprise.) 

ACT II 

(The Parlor of the Parker Home, at 6 o'clock, 
the evening of the Same Day. Emma is light- 
ing the lamps. Upon which process, enter 
Harry Hess.) 

Hal. (having watched Emma a full ni in life from the 
portieres) . Hello, Dolly Dimple ! Trying to throw a 
little light on the subject? 

Emma, (sedately). I am lighting the lamps. 

Hal. Oh, pardon me. I thought you were sweeping 
the steps, (contemplates her with admiration). Say, I 
like blue ribbons in your cap better than pink ones. 

Emma, (dimpling). I never wear pink. 

Hal. (advancing into the room). Oh, yes, you do. 
You wore pink ribbons last Sunday. The Sunday be- 
fore that, you wore blue. 

Emma. You remember colors a long time. 

Hal. (coming closer to her). I remember some col- 
ors in conjunction with some people a long time. (There 
is a pause.) Dolly Dimple, do you dance? (She makes 
no answer, being ivholly engrossed with the lamps.) 
Dolly Dimple, do you dance? 

Emma. There, that's done, (starts for the portiere).. 
There are only two lamps. 

Hal. (blowing one light out). There's one too many, 
in my judgment. You say you do dance? 

Emma, (reproachfully). I'll have to light that lamp 
again. 

Hal. (standing close by the lamp in question). All 
right, maybe you had better, as we're going to have coni- 

18 



pany Come on, light it Are n't you going to 

light it? 

Emma. You light it; you're right there. 

Hal. Young woman, it is n't my dut>- to light the 

lamps Come on, Dolly Dimple, please I 

Please, Dolly Dimple I 

(Enter Mr. Martix, slozi-Iy.) 

Mr. M. (sniffing). What's that nast}" odor ? Is any- 
thing burning? 

Hal. Nothing but this lamp. 

Emma, (going to the defunct lamp). ^Maybe it's this 
lamp. It went out suddenly. 

Mr. M. (dryly). I suspected as much. Well, light it 
again. I hate these gobs of red gloom ! In a house 
fitted with gas and electricity-, we use coal oil lamps ! 
We'll be swell even if we all die of suffocation I Where's 
the paper? 

Hal. (icatching Emma relight the lamp.) Uncle 
Andy, I'm sorr}- to see you in the dumps, this night of 
all nights. Cheer up ; the Moneyed Member of the Fam- 
ily is about to descend upon us. 

Emma. Is that all, ^Ir. Martin? 

Mr.M. (more graciously )^ Yes, my dear, unless you 
get me the evening paper. 

Emma. I'll see if it's come yet. {She goes out, se- 
dately. I 

Hal. Uncle Andy, I don't think you ought to call 
Emma "my dear.'' She's a poor girl, making her own 
living, and it's hard enough without — 

Mr. M. (seating himself confortahly in a big chair). 
She is, and incidentally she's a mighty pretty one. I am 
an old man, and it's one of the fifteen privileges of old 
age to call every prett)' girl "my dear." 

Hal. But still a pretty girl's only a wom.an, and all 
women are prone to misunderstand such "privileges." I 
think you ought to be more careful. 

19 



Mr. M. (leaning foncard and inspecting Hal's sJwes). 
My dear nephew, where do your new shoes pinch? 

Hal. (rescntfnlly). What do yon mean? These 
shoes are n't new. 

Mr. M. Neither is the joke — nor the situation. But 
let us avoid personaHties and trivahties. You say that 
Mrs. Colvin is coming tonight? 

Hal. (stramming around resentfnlly). She is. 

Mr. M. {pleasantly conversational). Ah, I've heard 
much of Mrs. Katherine Colvin. She is what one might 
call a Family Institution. Is she handsome? 

Hal. (knocking over an ornament). All rich women 
are handsome. 

Mr. M. (raising his brozvs). You answer with a 
wisdom beyond your years. What did you break? Sit 
down, why don't you, or turn up the light if you can't 
see. 

Hal. (repairing the damage Jiastily). Oh, I can see, 
thank you. I'm not so young as I look. 

Mr. M. (zvith a broad grin). My dear nephew, if 
your shoes pinch, why don't you change 'em? 

(Emma comes in zvith the paper, zvUich she hands to 
Mr. Martin.) 

Thank you, my dear. It's a great comfort to have a girl 
like you around the house. 

Emma. Thank you, Mr. Martin, (goes). 

Hal. (zvhile Mr. Martin is opening the paper). Say, 
Uncle, speaking of Aunt Kate, did you know that she 
is — 

Mr. M. (scanning the paper, reading headlines only). 
"Congress is Waiting." Is Congress ever doing anything 
else? (reads). "The Strike Situation Unchanged." 
I don't know that we expected it to change. The "strike 
situation" is chronic, (reads). "Seventy-Five I\Iiners 
Entombed. All Given Up for Dead." Poor devils, poor 
devils!" (reads). "Her Wedding Gown Costs Fifteen 
Thousand." And cheap at that probably. And yet peo- 

20 



pie wonder why the Socialist Party is growing in grace ! 
(to Hal). Well, speaking of your Aunt Kate, what is it? 
We've been speaking of her all day. 

Hal. (■zi'alkiiig up and doivn). That's a most unfor- 
tunate affliction, is n't it? 

Mr. M. {from over his paper). What affliction? 

{Enter LouiSE, ivcaring a high-neck evening gown.) 

Louise. Oh, I thought Mamma was here. That new 
cook does n't know straight up ! — Well Hal, I have n't 
seen your hair so slick since you gave your oration. {She 
takes a highly dramatic attitude, her eyes full of laugh- 
ter). "And when the People are aroused at last,^the 
People, in whose toil-worn hands the sovereign power is 
vested ; the People^ whose mighty voice rings down the 
living ages, — when the People, I say, are roused as a 
strong man — -" 

Hal. Oh, I say, Louise, let up ! 

Louise. But your hair does look brand-new, Hal, hon- 
est. Aunt Kate ought to feel honored. 

Mr. M. I wonder how she will feel when she sees 
you? Are you actually going to dinner in that dress? 

Louise, {surprised). Why, yes, Uncle, I thought I 
would. Why? 

Mr. M. {anxiously) . Are you comfortable? 

Louise, {gazing doivn at her dress, puzalcd). Yes, 
I — I think so. Or at least I thought I was. What is 
the matter with me? 

Mr. M. Turn around. Where is your train? Where 
are your pearls? And where is — pardon me, but where 
is your neck? 

Louise. Oh, you mean this old dress? I thought you 
did n't like low-necked gowns? 

Air. M. I don't. I despise 'em. I have n't seen you 
look so nice since you wore your hair in pigtails. 

Louise. Thank you. Uncle Andy. 

Mr. M. How do you like her, Harry? 

21 



Hal. Oh, for a change she'll do, but when a girl has 
a pretty neck, why should she wear a collar up to her 
ears? 

Louise, {to Hoi). Is n't this more home-like? 

Hal. (zinth a grin of itndcrsfanding). Yes, more 
Orphan-home-like ! You look like a portrait trying to 
come out of its frame. 

Mr. M. Hal, be careful. You stand a horrible chance 
of becoming epigrammatic. 

Louise. That's too much for me. I must see to the 
dinner. Aunt Kate ought to be here in a few minutes. 
(goes). 

Mr. AL What were you saying about ]\Irs. Colvin? 

Hoi. (taking up o hook, and seating himself). Aunt 
Kate? I don't remember especially.' 

il/r. il/. You said she had an affliction of some sort. 

Hal. (migJitily engaged zvitJi his book). Oh, did I? 
Maybe I referred to her money. 

]\Ir. M. (not zvithout irritation). No, you did n't. 
You meant a — er — a physical infirmity. (The distant 
door bell rings.) 

Hal. (zcitJi engaging rehictojice). I guess I should 
n't have mentioned it, if Aunt Mary has n't told you. 
INIaybe Aunt Kate's sensitive about it. I had n't thought 
of that. Now a man would n't think of trying to hide 
such a thing. (There are gay voices beyond the por- 
tieres.) 

Mr. M. What's the matter with her, Boy? 

Hal. I guess I had better let Aunt Mary tell you — 

Mr. il/. But I ought to know. Don't you under- 
stand how embarrassing it will be — 

Hoi. (hastily rising). Hush, Uncle Andy! Here 
she is ! 

(Enter Mr. Sydney Parker and Mrs. Katherine 
Colvin, ladened like travelers.) 

Mr. P. (joyously). I got her! (to Hal). My dear 

22 



boy, this is your Aunt Kitty. (to Mrs. Colvin). I 
think you've never met Uncle Andy, — Alary's brother? 

Mrs. C. {extending her gloved Jiand). I'm deHghted 
to meet you, "Uncle Andy." I must call you that, must 
n't I? (to Hal). And who is this big boy? I ought to 
know your eyes. (She studies Hal's face earnestly.) Is 
this Harry Henderson Hess? 

Mr. M. Prince Hal, the Exuberant, Mrs. Colvin. 
"Harry Henderson Hess" only when the pay roll is 
made out. 

Mrs. C. (to Hal). You have your mother's eyes. 

vYou poor motherless boy! Kiss me! (to Mr. 

Parker). I had forgotten that the boy was with you. 
I have n't seen him since he wore kilts, — when they lived 
in Reading, you know, (takes dif her hat). 

Hal. (recovering his self-assuranec). I remember 
when you came to see us. We had apple dumplings for 
desert, and you gave me a "Pilgrim's Progress," and you 
wore big gold bracelets. 

Mrs. C. (shedding her ivraps). Did I? I suppose 
you were very much impressed? 

Hal. (assisting her). I did n't want a book; I 
wanted a popgun. 

Mr. M. (reseating herself, still holding the paper). 
I'll wager you did ! Any old thing to make a noise ! (to 
Mrs. Colvin). He still likes the popgun variety of gift. 

Mr. P. (collecting the n'raps and baggage). \Miere's 
Mamma? And Louise? I'll call them. (He goes, quite 
flushed zvith happiness.) 

Mrs. C. (seating herself zvith the little preening 
movements of a pretty zvoman zvho has just taken off her 
zvraps). And Wellington is a man, in business for him- 
self. It makes me feel about one hundred! (to Mr. 
Martin, zvho shon's a secret anxiety to get hack to his 
paper). Go on with your paper, Uncle Andy. We never 
suspend family habits for me. (to Hal). Come here, 
Prince Hal. Do you still like popguns? 

23 



Hal. (dnnving o lozi' ottoman near her chair-). Are 
you going to give me a present? 

Mrs. C. Bo)', you are very like your mother. Of 
course I'm going to give you a present — several, I hope. 
Wliat would you rather have? 

Hal. Will you really give me what I want most — 
of all the things in the world? 

Mrs. C. (pensively). There are a good many things 
in the world, — beautiful things, useful things, worthless 
things, — a good many things ! What do you want most — 
an automobile? 

Hal. (seriously and awkwardly). No, I'd — I'd rather 
have books. (Mr. Martin looks over the top of his paper 
in mild surprise.) 

Mrs. C. (incrednloiisly). Books? You'd rather have 
books than an automobile? 

Hal. (earnestly). Yes, Ma'am. (Mr. Martin lowers 
Jiis paper an inch.) 

Mrs. C. Well, this is the pleasantest shock I've had 
for a long time. I did n't know I was going to find a 
"book}" nephew ! What books do you want ? 

Hal. (at a venture). Gibbon's "Decline and Fall of 
the Roman Empire," and — and Plutarch's "Lives." (Mr. 
Martin's paper sinks two inches.) 

^frs. C. (tilti)ii^' Hal's face ligJitly). Really do you 
want such books? Why have n't I known it all these 
years? "Honor bright?" 

Hal. Honor bright, x\unt Kate. (Mr. Martin's paper 
sinks lower.) 

Mrs. C. What do you read most, — history? 

Hal. Yes, history and — er economics. (Mr. Martin's 
paper sinks to his knees zvith a rustling crash.) 

Mrs. C. (turning, startled). Oh, what is the mat- 
ter. Mr. Martin? 

Mr. M. (rising, and sputtering from suppressed 
laughter). I — I forgot s — s — something. Excuse me. 
( lie hurries out.) 

24 



Hal. (calmly). You must n't mind Uncle Andy. 
He's absent-minded, and then he — he's frightfully deaf. 

Mrs. C. Deaf ? The poor man ! I had n't noticed it. 

Hal. (picking tip her handkerchief). Oh, he pre- 
tends he is n't, but half the time he does n't hear a thing. 
And of course we try not to notice it. 

Mrs. C. Of course not. The poor man ! 

(Enter Mrs. Parker, soberly gozi'ned.) 

Mrs. P. ]\Iy dear Aunt Kate ! 

Mrs. C. yiy dearest Mary ! 

]\Irs. P. (holding her at arms' length). How well 
you're looking ! This is a delightful surprise ! 

Airs. C. (reseating herself). It's a surprise to me. 
I had n't any idea of coming home for three months yet. 

Mrs. P. (seating herself). You're going to take a 
good long rest no\y, I hope? (Hal, having risen at Mrs. 
Parker's entrance, reseats himself on the ottoman.) 

Mrs. C. I don't know. ' I have several projects on 
hand, and business is business, even when you're tired. 

Mrs. P. (unfurling a tiny fan). Always strenuous,. 
Aunt Kate. 

Mrs. C. Not strenuous, but interested. It's such a 
big, big world, and there are so many people in it doing 
so many queer and pathetic things I I wish I might live 
a thousand years ! 

Mrs. P. (smiling that gracious society smile that 
li'on't come off). That does n't sound very much like a 
tired woman. 

Mrs. C. Oh, I'm not tired. I have never been tired 
in my life, I think. With people who don't have to 
earn their own living, weariness is a mere pose, more or 
less fashionable. I can't get things done fast enough. — 
I can't live enough at one time, that's all the trouble 
with me. 

Mrs. P. (smiling that stylish s)uilc, and toying n'lth 
the little fan). The women of Egypt again. Aunt Kate? 

Mrs. C. (carelessly). Yes, Egypt, and other outly- 

25 



ing districts. (She turns to Hal, as if for relief). And 
it makes me feel young just to look at this big boy here. 
How like your sister he is ! 

Mrs. P. (looking at Hal loz'itigly) . Yes, he is very 
like her, — veryJike her. 

Mrs. C. What are you interested in, Hal? Books, 
you say? 

Mrs. P. Oh yes, books, books, books ! This is his 
last year in the high school, and of course his work is 
very heavy. 

Hal. (zvith a very geniii)ie sigh). Yes, I got to dig. 
A. man can't do much nowadays without an education. 

Mrs. C. (looking at Hal thoughtfully). Oh, I don't 
know. It depends upon the man. Of course some men 
are able to succeed in spite of their education, but it takes 
a strong man to do it. What are you going to do ? 

Hal. (plaiting her laced handkerchief on his knee, 
for he has retained it since picking it up). Ask the 
Powers. Aunt Mary, what am I going to do? 

Mrs. P. His Uncle thinks he had better go to An- 
napolis. 

j\Irs. C. (sitting erect). The Navy? Send tJiis boy 
to the Navy? 

Mrs. P. (complacently). His Uncle thinks it's just 
the place for him. 

Mrs. C. (sitting erect er). Sydney must have taken 
leave of his senses ! His father did n't send Jiini to the 
Navy ! Hal, do you want to go to Annapolis ? 

Hal. (without looking up from his meditative plait- 
ing) . Ask the Powers. 

Mrs. C. (gravely). I am asking you. Do you want 
to go to Annapolis? 

Hal. (intent on his occupation). No, I can't say 
that Pm yearning to parade the high seas in a war ship. 

Mrs. C. Do you believe in war? 
Hal. (quietly, not looking up). No. 
Mrs. P. (laughing). How funny you are, Aunt 

26 



Kate ! Hal's never had two thoughts about war in all 
his life! What's a boy of his age "believe" or disbelieve? 
(Hal is apparently too much absorbed in the laced hand- 
kerchief to notice this.) And the Navy is so easy and* 
■ aristocratic ! Why, a man's career is practically ready- 
made, you know. 

Hal. Yes, a sort of hand-me-down. 

Mrs. C. (iiinch zcrought upon). It's the last place 
on earth for a man of real energy ! You might as Avell 
send a boy to a monastery, and be done with it. In 
either case you tie his hands most effectually. I hope I'll 
never live to see a nephew of mine relegated to the Xavy. 
There are other side-tracks that are at least progressive. 

Hal. (looking up at last). I guess there's no use 
getting excited. I may not pass. Wellington's bet me 
a runabout that I won't graduate. 

Mrs. C. (sinking back in her chair). Are you very 
anxious to graduate? 

(Enter ^Ir. Parker, in high spirits.) 

Mr. P. (beaming on them all). Hal anxious to 
graduate?' Not so anybody 'd notice it. His ambition is 
to be arrested for scorching. I tell him he does n't ap- 
preciate his advantages. ^^ by, when I was Hal's age 
I owned the third interest in a milk route, horse and 
wagon and all ! — Do you remember, that old speckled 
horse, Kitty, w'all-eyed as a bat? And the wagon — 
each w'heel pointing a different w^ay? Everything about 
the outfit wobbled ; you could hear us coming a mile ! 
Yes sir, I started life driving a milk wagon ; I was 
eleven years old, and I got up every morning at 4 o'clock, 
and hustled around like a good one. And when I'd 
sneak down stairs in the dark, Kitty would stick her head 
through a crack of the door, and say, "Got your mit- 
tens, Syd?" 

Mrs. C. (laughing gently). And you never had! 
And you would n't wear ear mufflers ! I never slept any 
after you'd gone. I expected the milkman to bring you 

27 



home any minute, frozen stiff! 

Mr. P. {striding iip and dozvn in the greatest enjoy- 
ment, plumy and proud). Christmas, but was n't it cold 
those January mornings ! Why, the milk cans burned 
your hands, they were so bloomin' cold ! Show me any- 
thing frostier than a two gallon can of skim milk at 4 
o'clock of a winter morning — show me ! We did n't use 
bottles in those days ; we ladeled it out Avith a battered old 
dipper, and the people left jugs and pitchers on the steps 
for me to stumble over. And the old horse would amble 
along^, lost in his own meditations, and the sun would 
n't come up, and would n't come up, and zvouJd n't come 
up! That's the sort of thing that makes a man of a boy, 
I'm here to tell you! I earned two dollars a week, and 
now (icitJi a comprehensive gesture) here we are! {He 
slaps Hal on the hack.) You've got a cinch, my boy, 
breakfasting with the family at 9 o'clock! 

Hal. {grinning). Do you want me to drive a milk 
wagon ? 

Mr. P. I want you to appreciate your opportunities, 
and pay some attention to your studies. I had only three 
years' schooling, sandwiched in at odd times, and I 
earned the money to pay for that. It was a hard pull, 
but I made it. Hey, Kitty? How do you like our shack? 

Mrs. C. I think that you were very lucky to find such 
a house. You rent it for the winter season. I suppose? 
It's a very good idea. 

Mr. P. Rent it the deuce ! I should say we did n't ! 

Mrs. C. Oh. Syd, you don't mean to say that you 
ozi.'n this beautiful house? 

Mr. P. {with ill-concealed pride). No, I don't, but 
Mary does. I gave it to her two years ago as a slight 
token of esteem and regard. Fact is, Kate, I'm on Easy 
Street at last. The women folks can give all the tea- 
l^iarties they want to, and Wellington — 

Hal. {rising, having been in telegraphic communica- 
tion with Mrs. Parker for some time). "From ]\Iilk 
Wagon to Bank President. Or, How He Won Out. A 

28 



Story for Boys. In Five Volumes. Volume One. A 
Happy Four O'Clock." — x'Vunt Mary, I'm famished. Is 
the new cook still on the job? 

Mrs. P. One never knows. I left Louise trying to 
straighten things out. Go see what you can do. (Hal 
goes.) 

Mr. P. There is no hurry. Give the woman time — 
give the woman time, (to Mrs. Colvin). As I was say- 
ing, the women have their swell tea parties, Wellington 
has his own car, and Hal has only to choose. 

Mrs. C. (zanth guarded interest). What do you 
mean, "Hal has only to choose?" 

Mr. P. (still zvalkiiig about, elate). I mean that the 
boy can do what he pleases. Wellington wants to coach 
him, but I rather favor the Navy. I say Wall Street 
does n't offer a young man a broad enough field, — that 
is, it is hardly a profession in itself. So I favor the 
Navy. So does Mary. The boy's got brains enough, if 
only he'd apply himself. The last thing on earth he 
thinks about is his books. "But there's no hurry; we're 
never young but once. Let him have his fling. I'll see 
that he never wants for anything. I've made enough 
and to spare for all of us, thank God. 

Mrs. P. (who Jias been more or less nervous for 
some time. — mostly more!). Sydney, for pity's sake! 
Stop ! Knock on wood ! — Aunt Kate, I never knew him 
to prance around and boast like this before. 

Mr. P. I guess a man has a right to tell his own. sis- 
ter how he's getting on in the world. Kitty stayed by^ 
me when we were poor, and I will not desert her in the 
days of my prosperity. 

(Enter Louise and W^ellington.) 

Well, (smiling a general "Good evening" on every- 
body). A noble sentiment, father. I take off my hat. 

Mrs. C. (rising impulsively). And who is this — not 
Louise ? 

Louise. My dear Aunt Kate! We're very happy to 
see you. 

29 



J Veil. Dad, here a minute. (He consults zcith his 
father, apart.) 

Mrs. C. \Yell, well, what a young lady you have be- 
come ! .All you children seem to have grown .up over 
night. 

Louise. Like mushrooms, as it were. I've been try- 
ing to hurry up dinner, but you know what a new cook 
is. — Mamma, ]\Irs. Reynoldes wants you at the 'phone. 
(Nodding apologies to Mrs. Colvin, Mrs. Parker leaves 
the room.) 

Louise. Aunt Kate, you don't look five minutes older. 
How dare you defy time ! 

Mrs. C. (reseating herself). 'Tis false! 

Mr. P. (turning from Wellington). All right. Tell 
him seventy thousand ; not a cent less. And the deal 
must be closed by 6 o'clock tomorrow. Now, don't ask 
me anything more about business. My sister Kate's 
here, and the shop is closed for a holiday, (to Louise). 
Daughter, how queer you look ! Is it your hair ? 

Well, (putting tip his pocket notebook). Dad, never 
ask a woman that question ! First place, they're never 
sure whose hair it is ; second place, if they did know, it 
would be even more embarrassing. Most likely that hair 
grew on the head of some fair peasant girl. — Or is it 
American grown, Louise? 

Mr. P. (inspecting Louise). Well, but you seem so 
strange. You look like some naughty little girl who 
grew up to be a saint. 

Mrs. C. And died in the last chapter. 

Well. A moving example to all other naughty little 
girls. 

Mr. P. (turning Louise around by her slioulders). 
It must be your dress. I don't think you fixed up much 
for your Aunt Kitty. 

Well, (inspecting Louise curiously). By George, 
that's what makes you look so natty, — that short dress ! 
Now you're the little "Weezy" who used to fight with 
me for the last caramel in the box. "As sure as the vine 

30 



grows 'round the stump, You are my precious sugar 
lump." I like my lost little sister. {The distant door 
bell rings sharply, twice.) (to Airs. Calvin.) ysually 
Louise prefers the serpentine effect — the silky, slazy, 
snakey style. 

Mrs. C. (looking at Louise as if sJie icere a great 
distance off). I'm sorry to hear it. I came over on the 
Mnritania, you know, and all the women were dragging 
those abominable trains about. I think I'll go home on 
a tramp steamer! 

Mr. P. "Home," Kitty? Don't you consider America 
your home? "Home is where the heart is," they say. 

rrr//. Aunt Kate's heart is with the down-trodden 
and the oppressed, "from Greenland's icy mountains to 
India's coral strand." The people in America are too 
comfortable for Aunt Kate. 

• Mrs. C. (smiling). Not too comfortable, but too 
complacent. 

(Hnter Hal, a snowy napkin pinned on as an- apron, 
and beating a small silz'cr tray, as if it were a gong.) 

Louise, (to Hal, an.viousl\). Who was it rang the 
bell ? 

Hal. (parading around, beating the goiig). Give it 
up. Dinner is now served in the dining car ! First call 
for dinner ! First call for dinner ! Dinner is now served 
in the dining car ! First call for dinner ! 

(<]\Iadeline; Tracey, handsomely gowned for travelings 

steps between the portieres, and stands, watcliing 

the family group zvith smiling archness.) 

Mr. P. (placing his hands on Louise's shoulder). 
Kitty, what do you think of my little girl? And Well- 
ington, here, — is n't he a pretty fine specimen? 

Well. Dad, don't ! You make me feel like a prize 
pumpkin ! 

Hal. (beating Jiis silver gong softly). Ladies and 
gentlemen, we next invite your attention to Exhibit B. 
Catalogue Number 11507. The Only Napoleon of 

31 



i4X««^*> 



finance in Captivity. This extraordinary specimen was 
caught red-handed — 

il/r#. P. Now, Harry, snbsitle. — Wellington, come 
here. Stand beside your sister. Closer. There, show 
me anything finer in the City of Brotherly Love ! {gaaes 
at thciii zvith open pride). Now, Kitty, these are my 
"hostages to fortune." 

Jllad. And a brave brace of braing they be, yer 
Honor! (Everybody turns, startled.) 

Louise, (aghast). Madeline! 
Well, (joyously, starting forzvard.) Madeline! 
Hal. (dropping the siher gong). "And the band 
played 'Annie Laurie !' " 

ACT HI 

(The Sitting room of the Parker Home, after 
breakfast, Tuesday Monting. Mr. Martin is 
reading the paper. Enter H.\h, in his usual 
' headlong fashion.) 

Hal. Where's my Aunt Kate? 

Mr. M. Not knowing, I could not say. Why are n't 
you at school? 

Hal. (taking up a chance book, and seating himself). 
I don't have to go to school today. I'm delegated to 
show Aunt Kate the town. Guess I'll study till she 
comes down. 

Mr. M. (sarcastically). Don't distress yourself. 

Hal. (cheerfully). Oh. she w^on't be long. We're 
going to have lots of fun "browsing in the bookshops," 
as Aunt Kate says. 

Mr. M. (grinning over the top of his paper). Gib- 
bon's "Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire'' or 
Plutarch's "Lives?" 

Hal. (gravely). Popguns. (There succeeds a silence, 
both of them reading, Hal zvith grozving absorption.) 

Mr. M. (su'ddenly). Say, what's the matter with 
Mrs. Colvin? 

32 



Hal. (looking up from liis book). I did n't know 
that Cleopatra was an Grecian, did you ? 

Mr. M. There are several things you don't know, 
my son. I was not speaking of Cleopatra. Listen. I 
am asking about Mrs. Colvin. What's the matter with 
her? 

Hal. (lost in scholarly speculations). There is n't 
anything the matter with her, I hope. Cleopatra married 
her brother, a little shaver about ten years old. Now 
don't that beat you? That was the regular thing with 
kings and queens in those days, this man says. Ex- 
cuse me. 

Air. M. (severely). I am asking about Mrs. Colvin. 
Please have the politeness to attend to my question. What 
is the matter with her? 

Hal. (z'agucly). "Alatter with her," — with my Aunt 
Kate? Why, nothing, that I know of. What do you 
mean ? 

Mr. M. You said last night that she had a — er — a — 
that is, I understood you to say she had a physical in- 
finnity. 

Hal. (staring at him). I never said any such thing, 
so help me ! Oh, yes, I remember now. 

Mr. M. (impatiently). Well, what is it? 

Hal. (slozvly). Why, she's — she's^did n't Aunt 
Mary tell you? 

Mr. M. If she had, would I be asking you? 

Hal. I'd rather let Aunt Alary tell you. It's her 
place. 

Mr. M. What is it, I say ? 

Hal. (zi'ith manifest reluctance). Why, she's — she's 
horribly deaf. 

Mr. M. She did n't seem so last night. 

Hal. (carelessly). Of course not; she's awfully sen- 
sitive about it, and pretends to hear lots more than she 
does. But pshaw, most deaf people do that. Is n't she 

33 



great? She knows everything, and she's not a bit stuck 
up about it. I wish she'd adopt me. 

Mr. M. (shrugging) . Adopt you! Adopt you? 
(looks him over coolly). You'd be a bird to adopt! 
I'd as soon adopt a ]\Iauser rifle ! \\'hat would she do 
with you ? 

Hal. (slozcly, z^'isf fully). Love me. (Uliiie Mr. 
Martin is staring, speechless li'ith astojiishnient,) 

(Enter Emma.) 

Eniuia. (to Hal). Your Aunt wants you right away. 

Hal. (looking at her remotely, wistfully). Which 
aunt? I have two aunts now. Dolly Dimple. 

Emma, (quite gently). Mrs. Parker. 

Hal. (coming out of it). Do you not see that you 
are disturbing my studies? 

Emma, (siniling). Yes, but your aunt wants you 
right away. (goes). 

Hal. (marking his place in the book n'ith much 
pomp). Present tense, imperative mood. That's my 
Aunt Alary, (to Mr. Martin). This is the way it goes. 
You see how much studying one can get done in this 
house. (He starts out.) 

Mr. M. Oh, Harry, by the way— 

Hal. (turjiing). Yes, what is it? 

Mr. M. I don't think you ought to call Emma "Dolly 
Dimple." She's only a poor girl, trying to earn her 
own living, and it's — 

Hal. (zcitii an expansizr grin). She is, and inci- 
dentally she's a mighty pretty one. If Aunt Kate asks 
for me, tell her to wait. I'll be back in a minute, (goes, 
zi'ith his head nnusually erect). 

Mr. M. (solus). Love him! The Prince is getting 

sentimental I suppose the boy does miss his mother, 

Mary and Louise being so taken up with social stunts. 
It's not much of a place to raise a harum-scarum like 

Hal. He'll probably wind up in jail — or Congress! 

Love him ! That's the first time I've heard him intimate 

34 



that life is not all beer and skittles. {He takes up his 
paper zuith an nnconscioits sigh, then lozvers it.) Love 
him ! The poor lonesome kid ! 

{Enter Mrs. Colvin, zvearing her hat, and carry- 
in (j her gloves, furs and long coat.) 

Mrs. C. {hesitatingly). I thought Harry was here. 
{Mr. Martin, reading, does not hear her.) I thought 
Harry was here. Oh, I forgot ; he's deaf. ( Then she 
speaks in a loud and painfully distinct tone, as she does 
througJiout the interz'iezv.) Do you know where Harry 
is, j\Ir. Martin? 

Mr. M. {looking up in surprise, and anszvering in a 
loud, distinct tone, as he does throughout the interuiezv) . 
He was here a minute ago, and he said to ask you please 
to wait. 

Mrs. C. {staring at him). Hal and I are going shop- 
ping — going "to take the day off," as he says, but I feel 
rather ashamed to keep him out of school. 

Air. M. Oh, you need n't mind that. He has more 
days off than on. 

Mrs. C. {seating herself near him). You mean there 
are so many distractions? 

Mr. M. {aside). The devil! She thinks I'm deaf, 
too! {to Mrs. Calvin). Oh, he does n't give two whoops 
for school. But it does n't matter; he won't need to 
know much. 

Mrs. C. {frozvning, aside). The poor dear man! He 
thinks I'm deaf! {aloud). What do you mean, he won't 
have to know much? 

Mr. M. All he'll have to do is Play the Game. 

Mrs. C. What game? 

Mr. M. The Money Game. 

Mrs. C. {edging her chair closer). Wall Street? 

Mr. M. Wall Street, the Speedway, Midnight Cafes, 
chorus beauties, — that sort of thing. They call it "Play- 
ing the Game." J 

35 



Mrs. C. (anxious, but z'aliantly shouting). He's go- 
ing to graduate, is n't he? 

Mr. M. (aside). She'll burst a blood-vessel! (aloud). 
He'll never get that far. This is no place for study. 
He can't put his mind on books when everybody else is 
talking about motor cars and bridge, can he? 

Mrs. C. No. Mr. Martin, no boy could. (Aside). 
This is dreadful ! 

Mr. M. That's what I say. No boy could. Hal's a 
fine fellow, but he's too much of a boy not to care, 
(aside). This is terrible! 

A^rs. C. Care for what? 

Mr. M. (aside). How she does shout at me! — 
(aloud) — For the things other people are caring about. 

Mrs. C. Of course not. 

(Enter jMadelini; Tracey, in an elaborate morning 
gozvn, and carrying an evening zvrap.) 

Mad. (smiling at Mr. Martin, hut addressing Mrs. 
Colvin). Pardon me, Mrs. Colvin, but I want to know 
how you like this wrap that I brought Louise. She has 
n't seen it yet. 

Mr. M. (looking tozvard the door, like a trapped 
man). Where did you say you and Hal were going, 
Mrs. Colvin ? 

Mrs. C. (taking the zvrap from Madeline, but speak- 
ing to Mr. Martin in a loud tone). We are going to the 
book shops and the Art Gallery. 

Mr. M. (rising zvith celerity, and speaking in a loud 
tone, to Madeline's polite surprise). I'll get you my 
catalogue of the paintings. 

Mrs. C. (nodding). Thank you, I shall be glad to 
have it. (Mr. Martin goes out, glad to make his escape). 

Mad. Pardon me, Mrs. Colvin, but why do you shout 
at Mr. Martin like that? 

Mrs. C. [examining the zvrap). Because he's deaf. 

Mod. No, he is n't. You ask him. 

Mrs. C. Yes, he is, deaf as a barn door, poor man. 

36 



I'm quite exhausted trjang to talk to him. Is n't it too 
bad? And he's so clever. And he thinks I'm deaf! It 
was too funny! He positively roared at me! We were 
talking about Hal. 

Mad. {carelessly). Yes, Hal is a fortunate boy. I 
think he's such a dear ! 

Mrs. C. Why is he a fortunate boy ? 

^lad. Why, he'll have everything on earth, — the Par- 
kers are awfully fond of him. He'll step right into the 
best set in Philadelphia, and Wellington's good for 'most 
anything in New York. Most boys would give their 
eyes to be in Hal's shoes. How do you like that? Try 
it on. 

Mrs. C. (shrinking back). Oh, my dear, I'm too old 
for such gorgeous things ! 

Mad. {taking the zvrap). Go on; I want to see how 
it hangs. (Mrs. Colvin permits Madeline to put it on 
her, though with silent protestations.) Oh, how charm- 
ing you look ! You lovely thing ! Walk around! (Mrs.. 
Colvin does so, pretending to be very "swell:") It's just 
perfect on you. You ought to have one like it. 

Mrs. C. (looking dozi'n at herself). I'm never happy 
in this sort of thing. Let's see you in it. (The exchange 
is made.) There, that's something like! 

Mad. (sailing around, quite in her cleincnt). Do you 
think Louise will like it? 

Airs. C. (adjusting the set of the wrap). Of course 
she'll like it, but — pardon me, but has Louise anything 
to wear with it? 

Mad. (squirming around in an endeavor to see the 
back). Louise? Louise Parker? She has some of the- 
swellest gowns you ever saw. 

Mrs. C. (seating herself, and taking up her gloves). 
Then Louise is a societv girl ? 

Mad. She is one of the most popular girls in Phila- 
delphia. Did n't you know? You ought to be proud of 
Louise ; she cuts a wide swath, I tell you. And she's 
popular in the best sense ; people like her for herself, yoiv 

37 



T^now, not because her mother gives such beautiful enter- 
tainments. Most popularity is no deeper than that ; you 
are liked for what you can give. No give, no get. So- 
ciety is an awful graft, really. How do you like these 
sleeves ? 

Airs. C. (fitting on her gloves ivith absent careful- 
ness). They are very pretty. If society is such a graft, 
why do you care about it? 

Mad. I don't care about it particularly ; nobody does. 
But it's something to do. The days are long enough, 
as it is. 

(Enter Mr. Martin, with a book.) 

Mr. M. (very loudly, to Airs. Colvin, zvho rises to 
Jake the book). Here is the latest catalogue. 1909. 
. Airs. C. (in a loud tone). Thank you. Mr. Martin, 
pardon me, but I want to ask you — I mean I thought 
you — (desperately) That is, are n't you deaf? 

Air. M. (in a loud tone). No, Mrs. Colvin, I am 
not deaf. 

Mrs. C. (in an ordinary tone). Then I beg your 
pardon for shouting at you. I thought — that is, Hal 
said, — or I should say I understood him to say that you 
were. 

Mr. M. (zvrathfully) . Did Hal tell you I was deaf? 

Mrs. C. Yes, Mr. Martin. 

Adr. M. Why, Hal told me you were deaf. 

Mrs. C. (indignantly). I'm not! 

Adr. M. (laughing grimly). Either am I. 

Mad. (laughing). Then it's up to the Prince to 
make amends. 

(Bnter Hal, carrying his overcoat 'and hat.) 

Hal. (radiantly). I'm ready. Aunt Kate. Let's hike. 
(to Madeline). It's up to me to make amends for what? 
I owe not any man. 

Mrs. C. You said your uncle was deaf. 

Mr. M. You told me Mrs. Colvin was deaf. 

38 



Hal. (agreeably). E'en so. What then? 

Air. M. Here we've been shouting at each other like 
a pair of fog-horns — 

Hal. {zinth tranquil impudence). If your new shoes 
pinch, Uncle Andy, why don't you change 'em? 

Mr. M. Oh, I see. I see. Sits the wind in that 
quarter? — Shall I tell your Aunt how your shoes 
pinched ? 

Hal. (looking him in the eye, as man to man). As 
you please. But really I don't think the story would in- 
terest a woman of Aunt Kate's experience. There's 
some mail for you in the hall. 

Mr. M. (smiling). A rascal often saves himself by 
his cleverness; a prince, by his impudence, (turns to 
leave the roam). Well, well, beg your aunt's pardon, 
and I'll call it square. (He goes, rather tickled than 
othencise.) 

Mad. What is this parable of the shoes? 

Hal. (turning to Airs. Colvin, zvho stands gravely 
regarding Jiim). Aunt Kate, I beg your pardon. Uncle 
Andy made me mad and I did it to get even. But that 
was — that was (stops, turns azvay, then faces the music 
resolutely) that was before you came. I mean it — it 
began before I — before I saw you. (He begins to fum- 
ble in Jiis pockets confusedly.) 

Mrs. C. What difference could that make? 

Hal. (embarrassed, but standing by his guns). I 
would n't have — I mean I could n't have started such 
a game after I saw you. Nobody could. I tried to call 
it off afterwards, but Uncle Andy kept at me. And I — 
did n't realize how embarrassing it would be for you. 
(He turns to Madeline, zvho has been zvatching him 
curiously). Are you going to the opera this morning, 
Miss Tracey? 

Mad. (taking a fczv mincing steps). This is the 
wrap I brought for Touise. Do you like it? 

Hal. (taking a fold of the cloth in his hand). Yes,, 
it's swell. Louise will look stunning in that. 

39 



Mad. (poittino^). Don't I look stunning? 

Hal. (3h you, you always look out of sight. You're 
the Swellest Thing Going. 

j\Iad. (throiving him a kiss). Hal, you're a dar- 
ling, — a perfect darling! You pay me the nicest com- 
pliments of any man I know. 

Hal. (admiring her li'ith the frankness of on «;r- 
spoiled boy). I'd sure be a lunkhead if I could n't ap- 
preciate you in that creation. You're — you're — why, 
your regal! (Mrs. Colvin studies this byplay z^'ith covert 
disapproval.) 

Mad. (taking off the zvrap). If I'm regal, being but 
a commoner, I suppose a real Prince would be royal. 
You put it on, — have you ever worn an opera coat? 

Hal. (permitting her to help him on zcith it. and 
displaying boyish pleasure in the performance). I have 
not made a practice of wearing one. These sleeves are 
great. Why don't you always wear sleeves lined with 
cobwebs ? 

Mad. (standing off to look at him). You handsome 
boy ! How do you feel ? 

Hal. I feel as if I ought to dine off peacocks' tongues 
•exclusively. "Bring forth the catiff !" "Updrawbridge, 
groom ! What warden, ho !" that's the way I feel. 

(Bnter LouiSE, in a subdued morning goz^'n.) 

Hal. Louise, look what Madeline brought you. Is n't 
it swagger? 

Louise. Oh, is that for me — truly? Why ^Madeline 
Tracey, that's perfectly dear of you ! Let me try it on. 
I hope I look as well in it as Hal does. 

Hal. (watching the transfer zvith interest). It's just 
the right length. Are n't the sleeves out of sight? — 
Aunt Kate, look at Louise ! 

iMrs. C. (looking at Hal, and speaking gently). It's 
very effective. (The girls discuss the zvrap apart.) I 
did n't know you were so fond of pretty clothes, Harry. 

Hal. I'm not fond of them — especially, but a fellow 

40 



has to care for what's around, I suppose. And look at 
that ! It's a thing of beauty, even if Louise were n't in 
it. I think that women wear such dandy togs. 

Mrs. C. (rising to get her coat). Some women do 
not. 

Hal. (springing to get it). You mean poor women? 

Mrs. C. Poor women and ignorant women and — 
women in bondage. 

Hal. Women in bondage — I know. The women of 
Egypt. 

Mrs. C. (adjusting her furs). What do you know 
about the women of Egypt? 

Hal. (straggling into his overcoat). I know they 
have n't any cloaks like that, and they don't go to the 
opera, not on your life. It's pretty tough to be a woman 
over there. Believe me. Don't you wear overshoes? 
Where are they? 

Mrs. C. In the hall. 

Hal. I'll get them. We got to hustle. (He hurries 
out.) 

Louise, (coming forivard). ]\Iadeline says that I can 
change this, if I don't like the shade. Do you think gray 
would be more becoming? 

Mrs. C. (gently, sadly). I think gray is a beauti- 
ful shade for evening, dear. 

(Enter We;lIvINGTon, zvearing a furred coat, and carry- 
ing his hat.) 

Well. I've brought the car around. Come on, every- 
body, let's show Aunt Kate what can be done in the way 
of speed. And we'll show this New York girl a thing 
or two. (He places his hand an instant on Madeline's 
arm.) (to Mrs. Colvin). Are you going out? 

Mrs. C. I promised Hal I'd buy him some books. 

Louise, (starting for the door). Let's all go with 
W'ellington. Hal w-on't mind. 

Well. It's a fine morning. The air is like champaign. 

41 



{Enter Hai,, radiant, zvith the overshoes.) 

Hal. (to Wellington). I thought you'd gone to Bal- 
timore, (kneels to put on Mrs. Colvin's overshoes). 
Other foot, Aunt Kate. Left foot first is bad hick. 

Well. I'm going to take the ladies out in the car. — 
Go on, you girls. Get ready. 

Hal. (laboring with the overshoes) . Aunt Kate can't 
go. We're going to buy books. 

Mad. You can buy books another day. They'll keep. 

Well. Strikes me you're rather keen on books all of 
a sudden, Kid. 

Louise. Yes, and Aunt Kate does n't care about 
shops. She hates them, don't you, Aunt Kate? (Hal 
rises to his feet, looking from one to the other.) 

Well, (slapping him on the hack). Come on, Boy, 
jolly up. What do you care about books? Let me show 
Aunt Kate a good time. .She's going away tomorrow. 

Hal. (to Mrs. Colvin). Are you going away tomor- 
row? 

Mrs. C. Yes, in the morning. 

Hal. (qnietly, turning azvay, and picking up his hat). 
I did n't know. You'd better go with the Duke. It'll be 
more fun any way. It's a tip-top morning, and the 
Duke's got a bran-new car. Go on, I don't mind. (He 
starts out). 

Mrs. C. I thought you wanted me to go with }'ou, 
Harry. 

Hal. (turning at the door). I do. — I mean I did. 
but the Duke's got a bran-new car. I'll hike along to 
school. I'm late now. 

Mrs. C. But, Hal. I'd rather ride in a street car with 
you. (Louise smiles indulgently). 

Mad. (laughing). You certainly are a sweet wo- 
man ! 

Mrs. C. I would. I'm not pretending just to please 
Hal. . , 

42 



JVcU. Ride in a street car, Aunt Kate? What non- 
sense ! Come on. Hal does n't mind. 

Mrs. C. (shakijig her head). Oh, I know a street 
car's hopelessly commonplace, but I am tired of gild 
edges. I'm tired of doing things that are n't worth 
while. Hal and I are going to do as we like for one whole 
long day. We're going to the toy shops, and wind up all 
the queer little jerky engines and the squeaky music 
boxes, — I haven't been in a toy shop for ever so long! 
And I'm going to buy a china dog with a muzzle on — a 
fierce little dog that growled so loud everybody was 
afraid of him ! And Hal's going to get me a bunch of 
street violets, and maybe (with a tremulous little laugh) 
maybe we'll eat peanuts ! We will if we want to, won't 
we. Boy? On the side streets, you know, so you won't 
be disgraced ! I'm going to forget some of the things 
I have to remember on other days — the untrue things 
that the people we know call Life. I'm tired of gilt 
edges ! 

Hal. (the radiance flashing back to his face). Aunt 
Kate, I dare you to run away ! 

Mrs. C. (seimng his hand). Anybody that will take 
a dare will steal sheep ! ( They run out, hand in hand. 
Wellington, Madeline and Louise look at each other in 
silence.) 

Louise, (fingering her nczu zvrap idly). Did you 
ever? It's like an elopement! 

Mad. (ivith a shrug). Hal does n't seem like the 
same boy. 

Louise. He's lost his head about Aunt Kate. You 
know how much he cares for books. 

Well. Well, go on, and get into some other togs. 
We'll take a spin, and have luncheon at Green's. I got 
tickets for "The Girl from Rector's" this afternoon. 

Louise. Oh, that's great. And Madeline, we can stop 
at Wanamaker's and see that lovely lace I was telling 
you about. It's only twenty-five a yard. 

Well, (pointing to the door). Hurry up! The day's 
getting on. 

43 



Mad. {archly). Give us five minutes? 

Well. I'll give you. five, but you may take thirty. 
(The girls go, talking eagerly, both at once, and their 
light voices reach him in diminishing cadences. When 
their voices have died quite azvay, he takes off his heavy 
overcoat, tosses it on a chair, and sits down. He takes 
a cigarette case from his pocket, selects one, starts to 
light it, then puts it back and pockets the case. He takes 
up a book, opens it, then lays it on the table, thoughtfully. 
Then he says, sadly, looking into space zvith- narrowed 
eyes) ; "Tired of gilt edges !" A woman tired of gilt 

edges! "Tired of gilt edges!" Why, damn it, so 

am I. but you can't wash the gold off your fingers. It 
sticks ! It sticks ! 

EPILOGUE 

(The Dining-room of the Parker Home, 
Wednesday Morning, at 9 o'clock. Mr. and 
Mrs. Parker, Mrs. Colvin and Mr. Martin are 
breakfasting.) 

Mr. P. {from the head of the table). Breakfast is 
a movable feast at this house. Wellington takes his at 
eight, Louise merges hers with luncheon at eleven, and 
Hal eats on the run. We old folks have to keep up the 
traditions. Pass the bread, please. Bv the way, where 
is Hal?. 

Mrs. P. Emma says he went out about eight o'clock. 
He told her he'd be back in time for breakfast. 

Mr. P. (making good headway with his breakfast). 
Of course he will. He eats on the run, but he always 
eats. 

Mr. M. He was cutting around his room long before 
seven o'clock. It sounded as if he were loading a fur- 
niture van — or unloading one. He must have something 
on his mind. 

Mr. P. {to Mrs. Colvin). Have you told him yet? 

Mrs. C. No, I'd rather you'd tell him. 

44 



Mrs. P. (wiping her eyes). Sydney, don't you dare 
tell him while I'm here. I can't stand it. 

Mr. P. But ril have to tell him before Kitty goes. 
(Mr. Martin looks from one to the other, piLZcIed.) 
(Enter Wellington, hat in hand.) 

Well, (stepping up to Mrs. Colvin). Sorry not tO' 
breakfast with you, Aunt Kate, but my day begins at 
eight. Goodbye. I wish you were going to stay with 
us awhile. We need you around here, don't we, Dad? 

Mrs. C. (rising). That's very nice of you, Welling- 
ton. Maybe next time I can stay longer. 

Well. I hope so. Take good care of Hal, and come 
again sure. 

Mrs. C. Good luck in your Wall Street war, dear 
boy. 

M'^ell. (going). Thank you. My regards to the suf- 
fragettes of Egypt. Goodbye. — Oh, Dad, I've ordered 
the car for you. So long. Aunt Kate! (goes). 

Airs. C. (resinning her breakfast) . I'm glad he's so- 
interested in his work. 

Air. M. His play, you mean. The Stock Exchange is- 
the gayest playground in the world. 

Airs. C. And the saddest. 

Air. AI. Oh, as to that, authorities differ. 

(Enter Hal, his cap on sidez^'ays, carryi)ig some 
red roses.) 

"This little pig went to market." 

Hal. (going directly to Airs. Cohz'in). Right you are,. 
Uncle Andy. I've been to market. — Aunt Kate, I bought 
you these roses because you're going away, and I wish 
you would n't. 

Airs. C. (rising to take the roses). Thank you, Hal. 
That was very thoughtful of you. How did you know 
that I like red roses best? 

Hal. Oh, I know. I'm not so slow. You see you're 
kind of like a red rose yourself. 

45 



Mr. M. Bravo, young man ! Tliat was very neat for 
a sprout of your experience. 

Mrs. P. Hal, do take off your cap, that's a good boy. 

Hal. (standing behind Airs. Colz'in's chair). Aunt 
Mary, you've been crying. Did anybody hurt your feel- 
ings? Show me the man! {brandishing Jiis fists). 
Show me the man ! I'll pulverize him ! 

Mrs. P. (rising hurriedly). No, I — I have a head- 
ache. I — that is, I — I must get on my things. It must 
he nearly time to go. (She hurries out, as if escaping 
from something.) 

Hal. (looking after her). She has n't a headache. 
Somebody has hurt her feelings. She'll tell me about it 
tomorrow. We ahvays tell each other our troubles. 

Mr. P. (to Hal). So you're sorry Aunt Kitty's go- 
ing away. 

Hal. You bet. Are n't you. 

Mr. P. Yes, but I'd be sorrier if she were n't coming 
back. 

Hal. (stepping around so he can see Mrs. Colvin's 
face). Are you coming back. Aunt Kate? (Mr. Martin 
makes a pretense of going on zvitJi his breakfast, but his 
interest in the succeeding conversation is keen and in- 
telligent.) 

Mrs. C. Yes, Prince Hal, I'm coming back to get 
you. 

Hal. To get me? 

Mrs. C. To get you. 

Hal. (slozvly). Coming back to Philadelphia to get — 
me? (Mrs. Colvin nods three times, smilingly.) Is it 
a riddle? Or a new sort of joke? Please don't joke 
about me. 

Mr. P. (rising from the table). She is n't joking, 
Harry. I almost wish she were. She says she needs 
you more than we do, and she's coming back to get you 
in May, and you'll go to Europe with her. 

Hal. She is? I am? (shaking his head in a dazed 
fashion). And this is n't to be my home any more? 

46 



Mr. P. (gejitly). Not any more, Harry. Hereafter 
you'll live with your Aunt Kitty. 

Hal. (slowly, steadily, feeling his blinded zva\'). I 
think I do not understand. Did Aunt Kate ask you for 
me, or did you — you ask her to take me? 

Air. P. Come here, Harry. (Hal steps up to him, 
erect and proud). Look at me. How can you ask me 
such a question? Aunt Kitty argued with me for two- 
hours last night to get my consent, and it took us both 
to win your Aunt Jj^kte over. Have n't I proved that 1 
love you, my boy, in the last five years? 

Hal. (steadily). Yes, but nobody has to take care 
of me. I — I can drive a milk wagon. 

Mr. P. You must n't say things like that to me, 
Harry. It is n't fair. We love you ; you know that. 
But Aunt Kitty says we have Louise and Wellington,, 
and she needs you more than we do, — needs you to help' 
carry out some of those wonderful plans of hers. And 
you love your Aunt Kitty, don't you? 

Hal. [Steadily). Yes, I love Aunt Kate all right. 

Mr. P. (trying to speak cheerfully). Why, then,, 
everything's lovely, and the goose honks high. And 
think where you'll go, — Paris, London, Egypt, — every- 
where, and maybe come back in an airship ! 

Hal. (breaking a little). Yes. LTncle Syd, but I — 
I'm not good enough to live with Aunt Kate. 

Mrs. C. (holding her roses to her lips as she speaks). 
Even supposing you are n't, Hal, perhaps you can im- 
prove. 

Hal. (extending his hand to Mr. Parker). Uncle 
Syd, you have been good to me. I — I — 

Air. P. (taking Hal's hand in both of his). That's 
all right, my boy, that's all right. We — we hate to lose 
you, but I think — and Kitty thinks — that it will be best 
for you in the end. That is what we want to do, — what 
is best for you. We all hope — I mean that I — I — Ex- 
cuse me. I forgot to 'phone Jenkins about that little 
matter. (He goes out, hastily.) 

47 



Hal. (not moz'iiig). And this is n't to be my home 
any more — not any more in all my life-time ! — Uncle 
Syd has been very good to me, Aunt Kate. 

Mrs. C. {Zi'ith the roses to her lifs). I am sure of 
that, Boy. And he will always be good to you. 

Air. ]\I. ifurtk'ely wiping Jiis eyes on his napkin). 
Have you had your breakfast, Kid? 

Hal. (turning his wide ga::e on Mr. Martin). Uncle 
Andy, did you know this? 

Mr. M. (nonchalantly, folding his iiapkin). Did I 
know what? I know some things. A man of my years 
usually retains a few facts. 

Hal. (zvith a long, rela.ving sigh). Did you know I 
was going with Aunt Kate? 

Mr. M. Not until this moment, but it i? the best 
possible thing that could come to you. (to Mrs. Colvin). 
I congratulate you on your decision. 

Mrs. C. Thank you. Uncle Andy. I hope I can make 
Harry happy and — useful. 

Hal. (sinking into a chair some distance from the 
tabic). Something is always happening to me. 

il/r. M. Come, Kid, eat your breakfast. We're all 
going to the station in a few minutes. 

Hal. (still in a state of ama.ce). Something is al- 
ways happening to me. 

(Enter Louise, //; a quiet morning gozvn.) 

Louise. Good morning, everybody. — Aunt Kate, 
Madeline and I meant to breakfast with you. but w^e did 
n't waken up in time. She'll be down in a minute. (She 
sits dozi'n at the tabic.) 

Hal. Louise, guess what's happened to me. 

Louise. Something good? 

Hal. The best ever. 

Louise, (eating her breakfast). You passed in Latin. 

Hal. (scornfully). Latin nothin' ! It's bigger than 
that, I'm here to tell you. 

48 



Louise. I did n't know anything was bigger than 
passing in Latin. 

Mr. M. (rising from the tabic). He has passed up 
Latin, rather. — Hal, come eat your breakfast. (to 
Louise). Are n't you going to the station with your 
Aunt. 

Louise. Yes, but she does n't go until noon. There's 
oceans of time. 

Mr. M. She's going at ten fifteen. You'd better look 
lively, (to Mrs. Cohnn). Do make that young hopeful 
of yours eat some breakfast. The excitement has gone 
to his head. And hurry up, all of you. (goes). 

Louise, (hurrying up). I did n't know you had 
changed your plans. — Hal, go tell Emma to call Made- 
line. 

Mrs. C. (rising from the table). No, there is n't 
time. You tell her goodbye for me. — Hal, let me pour 
you a cup of coffee? 

Hal. I don't want any breakfast. May I tell Louise 
what's happened to me? 

Mrs. C. (gathering up her roses). Look what Hal 
brought me. — You may if you'll eat your breakfast. 

Hal. (springing up). I'll eat ten breakfasts! I'll 
eat a crocodile, as Hamlet says. (He holds the portiere 
aside for Mrs. Colvin to pass out.) Louise, I'm going 
to Europe with Aunt Kate. 

Louise. Yes, you are ! I have a pastel of your going 
to Europe ! 

Hal (hauling a chair up to the tabic). That's all 
right, I am. And I'm to live with Aunt Kate always. 
Uncle Syd just told me. 

Louise, (leaning back in her chair). You are going 
to do zvhatF 

Hal. (standing up, reaching for tilings to cat). I'm 
going to help Aunt Kate build schools for — for those 
women in bondage, and hospitals and homes and things. 
She asked Uncle Syd last night if I could n't. 

Louise. What do you mean, — if you mean anything? 

49 



Hal. I mean something this time, all right. Listen. 
Aunt Kate asked Uncle Syd if I could live with her — 
she needs a boy like me to help build those hospitals and 
things. And I'm going to Europe in ]\Iay. 

Louise. Really, Hal, — really? 

Hal. Honor bright ; hope to die. And Aunt ]\Iary 
said no at first, and they made her say yes. They had 
an awful time to bring her around. 

Louise, (shaking her head zvith earnestness). Are 
n't you going to live with us any more? Not any more — ■ 
ever? {Hal shakes his head with equal earnestness.) 
What'll we do without you ? What'll / do ? There won't 
be any more fun in this house. Don't go, boy, don't go ! 
What do you care about hospitals? 

Hal. I got to go. Aunt Kate needs me. 

Louise. I don't care how much she needs you. We 
need you, too. She has everything else; she can't have 
you ! She can't have you! (buries her face in her nap- 
kin). I wish she had stayed away! I wish she had 
stayed away ! 

Hal. (much discomforted by Louise's grief). Maybe 
I'll amount to something if she takes me. 

Louise. You could amount to something here, I 
guess! (sobbing). Oh, I wish she had stayed away! I 
wish she had stayed away ! 

Hal. (watching her in great distress). Please don't 
cry, Louise! Please don't! 

Louise. I'll make Papa take it back! He'll do any- 
thing I ask him. She can't have you ! 

(Enter Emma.) 

Bnima. Miss Louise, your mother says if you're go- 
ing with them, come get ready. 

Louise, (rising). Tell her I'm coming. (Bninia 
goes, wondering and sympathetic.) I'll talk to Aunt 
Kate myself — you see if I don't ! She has everything 
else in the world. She can't have you! (She goes, half 
sobbing. Hal eats his breakfast soberly, with much heavy 

50 



sighing and reaching for things. Presently, enter Emma, 
with the morning mail.) 

Hal. Dolly Dimple, I'm going to Europe. 

Bmma. Yes you are! 

Hal. {folding his napkin very carefully). I'm going 
with my Aunt Kate in May. I'm going to live with her 
always, I guess. She's adopted me. 

Bmma. {dropping a fezv letters). You're joking, are 
n't you ? 

Hal. No, it's straight goods. I'm to help her do 
things, — things that count, you know, and keep on 
counting after you're dead. 

Bmma. {gravely). What sort of things do you mean? 

Hal. {rising from the table). I don't know yet — 
exactly, but Aunt Kate knows. She says she needs me 
in her business. 

Bmma. {commencing to collect the dishes). Won't 
you live here any more — not in all your life? 

Hal. {largely). Oh, I shall probably be in America 
sometimes — off and on. {He takes up his overcoat.) 

{Bnter Mrs. CoIvVIN, carrying her traveling bag 
and the roses.) 

Mrs. C. Are you ready, Harry? We're all waiting. 

HaL {struggling into his overcoat). Aunt Kate, 
Dolly Dimple does n't believe it — that I'm going to 
Europe. You tell her. 

Mrs. C. {smiling). Yes, Emma, he is going with 
me— he's to be my boy forever! {She holds out her 
gloved hand to him, impulsively). 

Hal. {raising her hand to his lips, azvkzvardly 
enough). My Aunt Kate! 

CURTAIN. 



51 



S^ 27 1911 



Other BooKs by tb© Same flutbor 



THE NOAHS AFLOAT An Historical Romance. 

Cloth, 12 mo; net, $1.50; postage, 10 cents. 

"A delicious burlesque, Irreverent but Irresistibly funny." 

—The Bookseller. 

THE HEART AND THE CROWN A Volume of Son- 
nets. Full leather; printed in two colors; postpaid, $1.25. 

"The work Is of fine quality, with much that is beautiful and ef- 
fective."— The Graduate Magazine. 

TU.VIBLEWEED A Book of Vagrant Verse. 

Cloth, 1 6mo; net, $ 1 .00; postage, 8 cents. 

"This beautiful poetry has the scent of the prairie grass, the rhythm 
of the rolling plains."- The Eagle. 

THE OPEN ROAD A Book of Outcast Verse. 

Cloth, 1 6mo; net, $1.25; postage, 8 cents. 

"A book of verse which rises clean out of ihe realm of the ordin- 
ary."— The Wichita Beacon. 



The above books can be ordered through bookstores, or of the 
author, H. Rea Woodman, Poughkeepsie, New York. 



One copy del. to Cat. Div. 



SrP 21 ^9" 



SEP 27 19? 1 



1 inRARY OF CONGRESS 

018 360 898 8 & 



